Apply Some Pressure
by justicemuffins
Summary: Tony's freaking out. Phil can fix that. Sort of. (Post-IM3; Pepperony and Capsicoul)
1. That's a Wrap

**A/N: So! This one is a Choose Your Own Ending type, mainly because I thought of two different ones and couldn't decide which I wanted to go with. So if you want sad things, pick Ending 1. If you want some fluff, pick Ending 2. Or read both. Or don't read this at all. It's all up to you, wow! :O**

**I got the idea when I was watching an episode of The New Adventures of Old Christine. Clark Gregg's character had the "talent" of being able to wrap someone up in a blanket like a burrito and get them to feel safe/go to sleep. So I decided I need that, haha.**

* * *

The anxiety attacks had gotten better over time. After fixing Pepper, after fixing himself, they'd gotten better. He was sleeping again, almost always through the night, though she stayed with him regardless. The bad nights were few and far between and when they did come, Pepper no longer ran from their bed; those days had gone along with the suits.

And then Phil Coulson went and ruined it all.

It's not that Tony isn't happy to see the agent pull a Lazarus on them, he is. As is everyone else, even if they _are_ more than a little pissed off about the deception involved. No, it's not that. It's just the fact that, suddenly, laying eyes on the guy seems to be enough to send him spiraling down into that cold abyss.

It takes weeks for him to manage being able to stay in the same room as Phil. He wonders why, if he's glad the man's alive, he instinctively reacts by going into a panic. Eye contact makes his palms itch and his spine tingle and his breath catch. It feels like his skin's crawling or that maybe he needs to crawl out of it. It feels too small.

Even now as they sit at opposite ends of the sofa, he has to stop himself from crawling over the arm and out the door. But at least now, he understands why. Before, it was remembering the Battle of New York. Because everything had changed. He was no longer in control. _He_ had changed. He'd changed again since then; for the better. He'd moved forward.

Now, though, it's because he's not the only one who's changed. Phil Coulson now is not the same man that he was before. Tony wouldn't expect him to be after… that. Oh outwardly… outwardly he's the same. Still damnably efficient, still infuriatingly pleasant, still wearing that same placid fucking smile. Still the things that Pepper remembers that Tony never noticed; kind, compassionate, selfless. But it's all… it's like it's all skin deep. Like it's some kind of shell housing something different inside.

He doesn't know if anyone else notices. If they do, they don't say anything. Tony notices. Notices that for all his smiling face, there's a cold, hard edge to grey-blue eyes that wasn't there before. Phil Coulson is alive, that much Tony has to agree with, but he can't help but feel there's some part of the man that stayed dead.

"It's your fucking eyes," Tony blurts.

Phil tilts his head inquisitively, offers him a look that's so patronizingly patient and concerned that Tony wants to reach out and smack it off his face.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your eyes," Tony repeats impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest tightly. "It's like staring into that hole again."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Mr. Stark," Phil responds evenly.

Tony twitches.

"You pretend that you haven't changed and maybe you're fooling everyone else but you're not fooling me because you _have_ changed so don't sit there and fucking _smile_ at me like I don't know any better when your eyes give it all away—"

He doesn't realize he's hyperventilating until there's a hand over his eyes and his words come to a stuttering halt. He can't see anything now and somehow that's better. He knows Phil's still there, can feel the man's hand over his eyes, but somehow not having to actually see him makes that okay.

"Mr. Stark, I need you to breathe for me."

"…fucking… trying _Jesus_…" Tony gasps.

"I'm going to try something. I need you to trust me," Phil says.

Tony doesn't speak, can't speak. The words terrify and soothe him simultaneously. His head is full of fluff and white noise and it feels like he's falling into himself.

"Do you trust me?"

The words have a certain edge to them that he can't quite identify. It's almost as though the question is being asked less for clarification and more because Phil simply isn't sure. He nods.

"I'm taking my hand away. Keep your eyes closed, please."

Tony does as instructed, still trying to regulate his breathing, get it something close to normal. He hears movement and knows that Phil is moving away from him. A soft click tells him the lights have been turned off, but even in the silence of the room he can't hear where the agent goes. He starts when he feels something brush against him.

"Relax, Mr. Stark. Lean forward for a moment… good, now sit back."

Confusion washes over him as something is pulled over him from the right and tucked under his left side. A blanket. Where the hell did Phil get a blanket from? The action is repeated on the opposite side until he's wrapped in a soft, tight cocoon. Like a… Like a human burrito. He feels a dip in the sofa that tells him Phil has resumed his seat at the other end.

"You can open your eyes now."

He does so and is greeted by complete darkness. His first reaction is more panic because there's no light, he must be blind. But a moment later, logic cuts through the cloud of panic and confusion: No glowing arc reactor to light the way anymore. That had taken some getting used to. Apparently still taking some getting used to.

But as they sit quietly in the dark, Tony starts to feel something: safe. It's a strange feeling to be having at that very moment, but something about the ridiculous way he's wrapped up in this stupid blanket makes him feel safe. His breathing slows gradually, his body loosens and ten minutes later, he feels a wave of exhaustion roll over him.

"Pepper said you'd been doing better."

Phil's tone is cautious, wary of Tony's passing episode.

"I am."

"You were," Phil corrects him.

Tony pauses. "Yeah. Until you showed up."

He can hear Phil breathe. "So I've gathered. Is it that I remind you of what happened in the Battle of New York?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Tony pauses again, gathers his thoughts. "No. I want you to talk about it."

"Me?" Phil questions, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I don't want to talk about what happened to me. I want you to talk about what happened to you."

It's quiet again. The quiet stretches on and on so long that some paranoid part of Tony worries that the agent has disappeared into thin air.

"Phil?" he says, his voice sounding strained and panicked even to his own ears.

"Still here, Mr. Stark."

"Fucking ju—… Would you just call me Tony already?"

"…alright. Tony, then."

"Okay, better. Now are you going to talk or not?"

He hears a slow sigh. "Why is it important that I do so?"

"Because the fact that you're different is what's fucking me up," he says insistently.

"I'm… not sure I understand. Considering what occurred, I would be concerned if I _weren't_ different in some way," Phil replies.

"But you're trying to pretend you're not different," Tony corrects him. "You keep going on like nothing's changed, like you haven't changed. But you have. And I've been sitting here thinking that no one else notices, but now that I think about it… they do. They all notice. They just don't want to admit that you've changed either. So you go along with it and pretend like nothing's wrong. But something's wrong, isn't it?"

He gets silence as an answer.

"Isn't it?" he repeats.

"It's not the first time I've almost died," Phil says suddenly. A brief silence follows his words before the rest of it slowly comes pouring out, like drawing sap from a tree. "But it's distinctly different. Perhaps it's because I've never been injured quite so severely or required such an extensive recovery period. Perhaps it's the simple fact that this time I really did die, if only temporarily. Whatever the reason, you're right. It's changed me."

"And you don't like those changes," Tony deduces.

"Did you?" Phil counters.

"No," Tony murmurs.

"This job is who I am. It requires that I be unshakeable and in control at all times. I'm very good at my job, Mr. Star—"

"Tony."

"—_Tony_. I'm very good at my job. Or I used to be. How can I continue to perform my duties effectively if standing in an open doorway with my back unprotected now makes me break out in a cold sweat? The answer is that I can't."

"So you pretend that you're fine to fool everyone into thinking you really are. Fooled yourself yet, Phil?" Tony needles.

Phil clams up at that.

"Listen. I tried to do the same thing, I tried to do this. Allow me to let you in on a little secret: _It doesn't work_. Now, I'm an ass. You know that, I know that, everyone knows that. But you know what got me through it? Pepper. Rhodey. Happy. JARVIS. I'd be up shit creek without any of them. So what you need to do is stop being an ass and thinking you can do this alone. You got stabbed through the back by a lunatic alien with daddy issues and died. No one's going to be surprised if you're a little fucked up after that. No one's going to be surprised if you're _a lot_ fucked up after that, either. So stop freaking me out with your dead eyes and just… let someone help."

"That was quite the impressive monologue."

"I just spilled my guts to you and that's all you have to say?"

He hears a soft huff of laughter. "I don't think it will surprise you if I say I am not in the habit of talking about myself."

"You did a little bit."

"A little bit."

"Baby steps, Phil."

"And now you've gotten what you wished for. I'll take your advice if it means we can manage being in the same room for five minutes without you having a panic attack," Phil says.

"Like I said, baby steps."

They lapse into silence. Tony feels himself drifting off unexpectedly and jerks awake.

"Th'fuck did you learn this blanket burrito trick anyway?" he slurs.

"It's just something I picked up years back. I've found it's particularly useful in situations such as yours," Phil answers.

"Maybe you should try it on yourself."

"Maybe."

Okay, so maybe this hadn't gone exactly how he'd planned and maybe Phil's still sealed up tighter than a miser's coin purse, but when the agent had said he'd be taking Tony's advice, Tony was inclined to believe him. It won't be right away, he's sure, but over time, if Phil will only let them in, he's sure the man's eyes won't look quite so hard and he won't feel like he has to pretend he hasn't changed.

That and he's pretty sure he's found his new favorite way to get rid of anxiety attacks.

"Think I'm gonna sleep."

"That would be wise."

"Gonna stay?"

"Yes, I'll stay."

"G'night, Agent."

"Goodnight, Mr. Stark."

He hears the door open.


	2. Ending 1

"Tony?" Pepper says questioningly from the doorway. "Who were you talking to?"

Tony blinks. He looks to the other end of the sofa, which bears no sign of having been sat upon, and down to the blanket which he's pulled around himself. There's a tweak in his chest that doesn't have anything to do with his recent surgery and with it, a strange, lingering feeling of safety. But as he looks around him, there's no evidence that anyone has been in the room but him.

And why would there be?

Phil Coulson's dead.

"No one," he says.

Pepper shakes her head and walks over, sitting beside him. He snakes an arm around her waist and pulls her close, kissing up the back of her neck as she draws the blanket over them.

"No one at all," he sighs against her skin.


	3. Ending 2

Steve stands in the doorway, taking the scene in before him. Phil glances up from the sofa with a soft smile, motioning for him to keep quiet. He nods firmly and makes his way over silently to take a seat on the armrest beside Phil.

"The blanket trick, huh?" he whispers.

"Works every time," Phil answers.

Steve looks over him to Tony, out cold and wrapped securely in the blanket. When the two had retreated to this room, they'd all been more than a little worried; it had been months since Phil had miraculously returned and Tony's sudden attacks had concerned all of them. The fact that they had been centered around Phil had been even more worrisome.

"I take it whatever you talked about worked," Steve states.

"Yes. It did," Phil says.

He knows the agent can feel him watching.

"I'm making an appointment with the therapist for Monday," Phil says slowly.

A small, sad smile makes its way to the soldier's face. He reaches for the agent's hand and squeezes tightly.

"Would you like me to go with you?" he asks.

In the dim light from the cracked door, he watches the agent and feels sure the man is about to respond in the negative. But Phil opens his mouth, only to close it a moment later. He glances over to Tony's sleeping form before squeezing Steve's hand back. He looks up at the captain.

"Please," he says simply.

Steve smiles again, brighter this time. "Good."

They settle in, keeping a close eye on the slumbering man at the other end of the couch.

* * *

When Tony wakes up, it's with his face pressed to Phil's chest. He lifts his head, glancing around with a sort of bleary fascination at how Pepper is pressed to his side and Steve to Phil's. The four of them mold together oddly comfortably on the small sofa, but why they're all there is a mystery to him.

"Back to sleep, Mr. Stark."

Phil hadn't even bothered to open his eyes. Tony yawns.

"When did this happen?" he mumbles.

"Shh."

Tony grunts. He tightens his hold around Pepper—and just when had Phil managed to get them both in the same blanket-burrito?— resumes using the agent's chest as a pillow, and wastes no time in taking the man's sound advice.


End file.
